


Victorious

by initialism



Category: Chess (Board Game)
Genre: Breast Worship, Cunnilingus, F/M, Femdom, Gender or Sex Swap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-26 16:47:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17145410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/initialism/pseuds/initialism
Summary: ...22. e8=Q+ Rc823. Qxc8#





	Victorious

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tonepoem](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tonepoem/gifts).



> The noncon warning is for the idea that the pieces are under a permanent magical compulsion to submit once defeated, but from their POV it's just a natural part of life.

It was the final step.

Uncharacteristically, Pawn hesitated. He had always followed orders until now, braving the depredations of the knights as they leapt back and forth over his head to capture his comrades, digging in as he faced his implacable opposite number for so long.

But this was the _final_ step on his path, the last thing he would do as he was now. Once he set foot on the rank in front of him, his own rank would change, and much more besides.

He glanced behind him, over the great distance he had struggled across. The King seemed so far away now, nestled in the corner after castling; it had been his job to protect him, once, but now his role was far greater. Closer by was the bishop who had relayed his orders, silently urging him onwards. He looked beyond, to the side of the battlefield, where the bishop's counterpart lay recuperating after his brutal early capture, surrounded by other pieces from both sides, including the two Queens, who had removed themselves from the field in what he had, from his lowly perspective, interpreted as an attempt to limit the damage -- walking weapons of mass destruction, their range unlimited, their maneuverability unparalleled by any other member of the army.

Was it right to bring such power back into play? Yes, yes it was, if it would truly end the conflict once and for all.

He looked ahead with renewed determination. The long fight they had all endured, the many sacrifices his comrades had made, would not be in vain.

He took the final step.

Even before his foot made contact with the ground, the change had begun. He felt himself growing much taller, legs lengthening even in mid-stride. The contours of his body were changing too, in ways both subtle and decidedly not. His armour shifted and flowed in tandem with the changes to his body, in accordance with the dictates of the ancient thaumaturgy that governed this region, his chestplate expanding to accommodate his new breasts, his codpiece shrinking away. On his head, he had expected the crown his helmet had morphed into to feel heavy, but it was light as a feather.

"Your Majesty," the bishop said behind her, curtseying in her robes.

The Pawn - no, the Queen - understood now. She understood all of it. She felt filled with puissance, knew now that the only reason her predecessor and her opponent had removed themselves was that no one else on the board could possibly understand their power as well as they could themselves. She could feel the ease with which she could return to her King if she chose -- how strange it seemed that the Pawn she had been a moment ago had felt him to be so far away. She could see the whole Battlefield with total clarity, all the many opposing pieces she could capture if she chose to -- including their King.

"Check," she said, her voice ringing out high and clear across the two opposing armies.

A Rook that had been harrying their remaining Knight dashed back, throwing himself in front of the King. A desperate stratagem, the only possible way to stave off defeat, but futile, utterly doomed. Pawn had understood the plan on an intellectual level; Queen lived and breathed it. She was no longer obeying orders, she was following the instincts of a supreme commander.

She stepped forward, knocking the Rook casually off the side of the battlefield as she reached him. He was irrelevant now; she barely even registered the way he trembled in fear at her approach.

All that mattered was the King. She was as close to him now as Pawn had been to his opposite number for so long at the beginning of the battle, as they had stared at one another from their entrenched positions, unable to capture one another.

And the same was true now; the King could not dismiss her from the board due to the protection of her loyal bishop, the same one who had ordered Pawn into this course of action when she had still outranked him. And she could not, in the end, remove the King from the field, for his defeat also signified that of his entire army.

"Checkmate," she said with relish.

The King fell at her feet, prostrate. "I surrender," he said. "I am yours."

The triumphant Queen surveyed her prize. A sudden urge took hold of her. "Kiss my feet," she said.

The defeated King fell to the task with, if not enthusiasm, then at least a determination to prove his worth as a conquest, having failed to do so a conqueror. It was, she thought, rather more than the compulsion of the geas that lay over their environment that made him take his time, caressing her skin with his lips.

As he continued, she belatedly realised that her sandals had disappeared, the same magic that had changed her clothing as she herself changed responding to her subconscious desires. She decided to take control of the process, imagining a new outfit and then, as soon as the thought crystallised in her mind, she was wearing it: a diaphanous robe, clasped at her neck with a diamond, that left the front of her body completely exposed. Her crown became a simple tiara, albeit also encrusted with diamonds.

"Kneel," she commanded.

As the King scrambled to his knees, his own clothing disappeared, replaced only with a collar around his neck. "Yes, Your Majesty."

She looked down approvingly at his cock, jutting out in front of him. For just a moment she imagined what it would have been like if the King had managed to reach her when she was still a mere pawn, capture her before her transformation. Standing, his cock would have been at exactly the level of a pawn's mouth -- would he have taken advantage of that before the capture, fucking the face of his victim with no thought of reciprocation?

Even as the thought momentarily excited her -- at the same time as she imagined how hard her Pawn self's cock would have been in such a situation, she felt a flush of wetness in her cunt, a sensation at once utterly unfamiliar to her past experience and instinctively understood by her new body -- she knew the answer. The King would have discarded her in the same casual way as she had the Rook who had blocked her path to him.

As a Pawn, she had always known that royalty was different. But now she understood what that meant in whole new ways. Especially now that she had a King, kneeling before her in abject surrender.

"Lick me," she commanded. As he leaned in towards her cunt, she grabbed hold of his head with both hands to pull it closer.

The defeated King lost no time in following her command, going quickly from sliding his tongue up and down her outer lips to thrusting it inside her, fucking her with it. She pulled him in even closer, revelling in his worship of her. As his enthusiastic tonguefucking took her over the edge, she cried out, in pleasure but also with a fierce triumph.

"Have I pleased you, Your Majesty?" the King asked, when she released her grip on him.

"You have," she said magnanimously. "But you are not finished yet." And so saying, she pushed him backwards, though not so hard that he couldn't catch himself with his hands and readjust his position as she mounted him.

The feeling of his cock inside her, thick, hard, hot, and entirely _hers_ , was immensely satisfying. Better still was the feeling that having just come, she could ride him for a long time without coming, enjoy fucking him, enjoy dominating him.

"Your Majesty," he gasped.

"No," she said. "Not yet." To her surprise and amusement, a riding crop appeared in her hand. She ran it down his chest as she began to slide up and down slowly on his cock. She could feel the way he was straining to avoid coming, took great delight in squeezing him at unpredictable intervals: the way he would gasp, shudder, but obey her instruction not to come.

"Your breasts are magnificent," he said.

"All of me is magnificent," she corrected.

"Yes, Your Majesty," the King said. "But I ... May I touch them?"

She nodded, almost imperceptibly, but he was alert to even the smallest signal from her. He placed his hands underneath her breasts, first gently cupping them, then beginning to stroke them. She felt her nipples harden underneath his palms. "Use your mouth," she instructed. The King levered himself up towards her, his hands moving from her breasts to her arse to steady himself -- she thought for a moment to punish him for such impudence, but was too keen to feel his lips against her soft flesh, his tongue swirling around her nipples.

He worshipped each breast in turn, covering every inch in kisses, following slow spiral paths that ended on her nipples, then repeated the whole process. At the same time, though, his cock was beginning to thrust inside her; she met this by grinding down into him so that her clit rubbed against him.

She was getting close, but paradoxically it seemed that he was sublimating all his own desire into the attention he was paying to her breasts.

"Use your teeth," she gasped, and he gently grazed the underside of her right nipple in response. She arched backwards, grabbing hold of his head as she had earlier to prevent him falling away from her. He clung tighter to her arse and she growled, "Come inside me."

The feeling of him doing so was almost undetectable as her own orgasm hit, the combination of his mouth on her breasts, his hands gripping her tight and his hard cock inside her with the heady sensations of dominance driving her over the edge.

It was only in the moment of clarity afterwards that she realised what had been happening around her: her army had been taking advantage of any of their opponents, a reflection in microcosm of her taking their King. The area at the side of the board for the defeated pieces had turned into an outright orgy, the exchanged Queens at its centre.

While all this had been going on, her own King had slowly crossed the board to join her. "Congratulations," he said. "A worthy victory. And it seemed as though you rather enjoyed the spoils." He looked down at the defeated King, now flopped beneath her, his softening cock still inside her.

"But I suppose now I go back to the life of a foot soldier," she said, with a twinge of regret. She could already see the other pairings around her breaking up, the defeated pieces joining them as all returned to their starting positions. She would have to move off this rank for that process to be completed.

"Not necessarily, Your Majesty."

It was the Bishop who she had spoken to, whose order to advance to the final rank had triggered her transformation. An opposing pawn scurried out from under her robes as she spoke.

The other two queens had joined the conference now. "You have a choice," her counterpart said, the true Queen. "The same choice that I--" She looked at the other Queen with a fond expression "-- that we both faced, long ago."

She looked at each of them in turn. "You were both once pawns, as I was?"

They nodded. "But once you are a Queen, you can go anywhere," her opponent said as she resumed her position.

"We cannot pretend to understand the Eternal Battle," the true Queen said. A glance back at the Bishop suggested that she would have taken issue with that assessment, if she had felt even a little less deference to her leaders. "But we do know that it is more than eternal, that it goes on everywhere."

"You can go anywhere," the other Queen repeated. "And eventually you will find another battle, an army in need of a Queen."

"And what of this army's need of a pawn?" she asked, looking at the empty spot that her earlier self would have filled in the massed rank of defenders on the other side of the battlefield.

"If you wish to return to service--" the King began.

But the true Queen cut across him. "I wouldn't worry about that," she said, patting her belly with a mysterious smile.

And that was when the new Queen realised: her body had taken on the defeated King's seed, but it would not quicken until she had need of it. Her replacement as pawn would be of the royal blood.

"Have you decided?" the King asked after a moment.

"Yes," the new Queen said without hesitation. Looking at the defeated Queen, she said, "I am a Queen, I can go anywhere."

She walked away to her unknowable destiny to the sound of the warriors of both sides applauding.


End file.
